Charlotte on the Hunt

Fri, 08 Oct 2021 19:25:50 GMT

The streets were filled with the ruckus of traders and the loud rumbling of gears turning as the huge gates of the Walled City of Astra opened to allow merchants and other entrants within it’s interior. Market stalls buzzed and people rushed down the cobblestone streets on the warm, gray day. Despite the gloom that normally hung over the city right before a downpour, the energy was still palpable.

Charlotte’s ears twitched in frustration as she walked past a Royal Knight, seemingly heading back to his station, as he was alone. For a moment, she was distracted, as she tended to be when gazing at knights. The regal trim on his armor made her gauntlet and mail, while expensive, look downright quaint in comparison. Her clawed, rodentlike hands curled into fists for a moment, and as he kept walking away, she exhaled loudly and sighed. She took a look at the image from the poster on the bounty board she had snatched up earlier, taking a moment to study all the features of who she was looking for. Despite being caught up in a city crowd, the presence of people several feet taller than her didn’t distract her from her reading, although it was starting to block out the light. Dogs barked and apothecary door bells rang as people rushed to get their last minute shopping done before the downpour.

“Weather-Watchers say it’s gonna be uh… what was that word, Milly?” An older man spoke as Charlotte walked by his market stall. Despite the sounds of the city all around them, the man’s voice carried as if it were sent directly to her ears.

“Torrential, Martin?” Replied a middle-aged woman, red hair tied in a bun. She fixed her glasses and adjusted the merchandise on the stall table so as to look more appealing.

“Aye, torrential! It’d be a right shame if ye got yer beautiful fur wet, little miss.” Martin called out, very clearly referring to the Ratkin walking by the stall.

“Don’t sexually harass the beasts, Martin! That one looks quite mean, don’t she?” Milly snapped at him, causing Charlotte to stop in her tracks. Despite the city being filled with every race in the Kingdom of Redding, every variety of beastkin not too big to fit within its walls, every type of pack animal, exotic or common, why had these two decided to call out to her? She gently fingered the flintlock in its holster on her waist, changing her mind and instead turning to the couple.

“Is there some way I can help you?” Charlotte responded, still confused as to why they had started a dialogue about her appearance out loud.

“Aye, mousey,” The man began. “You can buy somethin."

Charlotte took a look at the stall. The table was laden with various cheap magical sundries. Things you could find at the shop of a hedge witch who'd just moved into town, or a nonmagical peasant who fancied himself a collector. A silver mirror that made scrying easier for beginners, a scarf that could hold a single magical incantation within its fabric…

And a scraggly-looking doll. It had brown hair, made of wool, and one of the button eyes was missing. None of it was remotely interesting, but the doll still called to Charlotte. She eyed it for a few more moments.

"First off, I'm a Ratkin."

"Eh, mouse, rat, what's the difference?" The old man responded.

"Plenty, you geriatric." Charlotte snapped back.

"Me hubby's got plenty of good years left, ya cheese-eater!" Milly chimed in.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Does he tell you he doesn't "feel up to it" when you're in bed?" Charlotte's sharp teeth caught what little sunlight broke through the gray sky and glinted mischievously.

The older woman's face went almost as red as her hair, and she turned away, shooting a death glare at Charlotte, and then her husband. Martin looked helplessly at the beastkin, who flexed the fingers on her gauntlet, impatiently.

"So, I'll tell ya what. Gimme that doll, and I'll leave ya be.”

Martin looked to his wife, who at this point was seething. The gathering clouds above the city seemed to pale in comparison.

Grumbling, Martin thrust the doll into Charlotte’s hands, aggressively. She received it with care and unconsciously held it with a gentle grasp. She flicked the older man a few silver pieces, and started to walk away as they landed carelessly on the table. “Pleasure doin business with ya, Martin.” Within moments, the Ratkin had managed to make her way back into the crowd. Milly scooped up the silver pieces before her bumbling husband could even make the motion to, turning her nose up at his exasperated attempt to apologize.

Charlotte’s nose sniffed at the strong smell of ozone. The scent permeated even the various scents of the market district’s food and spice stalls. The familiar scents that reminded her of why she preferred life in the Walled City to normal Beastkin villages were slowly being smothered by the pretense of rain, and would likely be extinguished for several hours during the oncoming storm. Normally, she couldn’t move with as much freedom as she did. She had to make herself small among the knights, adventurers and traders rushing and bustling, or be squished between a sweaty Half-Orc’s leather armor and a Paladin’s tower shield while trying to hurry to her favorite kebab stand before the lunch rush. The beastkin shuddered at the thought, and silently thanked whatever strange goddess was being worshipped by the citizens that week.

Astra was a city of trends. The Walled City originally didn’t allow witches within the city walls. It wasn’t a royal decree or a law within the Kingdom of Redding, but each time a witch would open her apothecary or offer her services within the city in any official capacity, they’d be run out, through bureaucracy or violence. Charlotte chalked it up to the fact that witches were still feared within the Kingdom. She didn’t blame them, though. Any Witch she’d ever had a job to hunt was nothing but trouble. Luckily, it wasn’t anything but Hedge Witches, charged with something extremely minor, but placed upon the bounty board nonetheless. The one time they hadn’t just paid off their bounty when asked, she had chased them through the countryside for three days.

Charlotte sighed in exhaustion even recalling the event. Slipping the doll into her satchel, she approached her normal haunt, a tavern named The Bloodied Dove. The barkeep, whom she was rather close to, had never explained the meaning behind the name, and Charlotte couldn’t seem to get an answer out of his sister, the innkeep. No matter how drunk either of them got, they were as tight-lipped as ever.

She walked inside, the ornate Elven bell above the door ringing loudly like a shop entrance as she did.

“Ah, me favorite customer. ‘Ello there, Charlie!” Said a loud, friendly voice from behind the counter.

Charlotte blushed a little at the use of her nickname. It faded quickly when she realized that there were no new customers sitting around the bar. It was the same old drunks and laborers, just off of work.

“Ah, Boris, didn’t I tell ya not to use that name in front of people?” Charlotte responded playfully, her braid bouncing along with her mood. Entering the warmly lit, wood-floored tavern always did well to raise her spirits. The grayness outside was no exception.

“Can’t a guy call his favorite gal by her favorite name?” He replied, letting out a belly laugh, and filling up a tankard with an amber liquid. Foam frothed and rolled over the top as he completed his pour, and he slid it over to Charlotte, who had plopped the seat closest to the entrance of the pub, and whose ears were currently flopped downward in embarrassment at Boris’ decree.

“Who’s even going to hear? Little Renvaldt? The Halfling’s buried in his drink! Ha ha!” Renvaldt, a halfling who worked as an Artificer-by-Contract, raised his hand woozily. In the hand was a tankard the size of his head, sloshing with liquid.

“Renvaldt is the least of my concerns.” Charlotte responded. “What happens if someone walks in?”

“Ooh, sweetie, don’t tell me you still want to use this place as your “place of operations.”...” came a voice from behind Charlotte. She sipped from her mead, attempting to ignore the rebuttal from the Innkeep and Boris’ sister. “I’m afraid we don’t have that many interesting customers. As much as we love havin’ ye here, shouldn’t you be doin’ that at a much busier place?”

“I… Well, I’ve tried, but it’s hard to be intimidatin’ looking like I do.” Charlotte looked a little down.

“I’d say yer pretty scary with that big golden claw ye’ve got, Charlie.” Boris cut in. “Bren, get Charlotte’s room ready, will ye? I don’t want me girl going out in this weather.”

The black fur on Charlotte’s face took on a slightly reddish hue. “Not in front of Renvaldt, Boris!”

Charlotte seemed ashamed at the treatment, but in truth, she treasured it more with each passing day. It had only been a few years since her family had passed, but the owners of the Dove had taken her in with open arms and a warm hearth.

“You’re thinking about the day we metcha, eh?” Boris filled up Charlotte’s tankard almost as soon as she had finished the last gulp. She nodded a little, looking out the windows at the tavern’s entrance as the last few traders escaping the rain found their places among the alleys and main street inns. “It was only a few years ago, huh?”

“I don’t even know why ya keep drinkin me mead. I ain’t got Beastkin Brew and it’ll take ya a whole barrel to get drunk. You’ll be full before ya feel the buzz.” He was right. Beastkin livers were much tougher than a normal human’s, but Charlotte had only once stooped as low as to down the swill known as Beastkin Brew.

“Aye, last time ye had the stuff was the same day they passed, eh?”

“I don’t even know if they died the day I got the news, Boris.”

“Ya said that before, didn’tcha?”

“Sorry. It’s just… This rain is depressing.” She said back, wistfully.

This weather marked the beginning of the Rainy Season in the grasslands of Lamonde. Many traders were stuck in Western Redding until the end of it, which could last up to three months. Airships didn’t fly cargo in the inclement weather, and had to work on extremely tight schedules to beat the Weather-Watcher’s predictions.

“The last time it was this bad really was five years ago.” Brenda, the innkeep, said.

Charlotte recalled silently, the last time she had consumed Beastkin Brew. The pouring rain, her matted fur, and the bare-knuckle brawl she’d gotten into with an Elven drunkard who was on the streets outside of the Bloodied Dove. The elf, unscrupulously wandering about the Tavern Lane with a swiped mug of a beer in hand, had proclaimed he had seen “The Death of the Lord and Lady”, in one of his prophetic dreams. On the way to the Bounty Hunter’s guild, Charlotte had received a letter correlating with his chants. In her anguish, she had swallowed all of the contents of her flask, quickly falling into a horrible haze and pummeling the Elf, who was cheering at the death of her parents.

Wait, was he cheering? Charlotte could barely recall. Any event during the fight was a mess to her. She could recall the feeling of blood dripping from her claws, pouring rain running down her messy hair, an angry scream to the heavens, drowned out with rolling thunder.

And blackness.

A warm bed. Friendly faces. Brenda and Boris.

Since then, the human innkeepers had cared for her. She seemed to attract real doting humans, even as an adult. Not that she minded. Having never really been a part of beastkin society, she didn’t even think she’d fit in. She knew nothing of them beyond the few times she'd visited Beastkin settlements chasing bounties.

Charlotte, intending to distract herself, pulled out the rolled-up parchment with her current bounty on it. An artists' recreation of a woman with strong facial features and shoulder-length brown hair looked back at her, rather menacingly. The woman seemed enraged even through the parchment. A large scar across the bridge of her nose caught Charlotte’s eye.

The Guildmaster had been surprised at Charlotte's choice of bounty, given that the case only resurfaced based on hearsay.

"Oh, who's that now?" One of the regulars, an olive-skinned woman with long, platinum blonde hair, asked in a sing-song voice. She was sitting two seats away from the ratkin, and had an unsightly scar over one eye, but Charlotte had always thought it made her more attractive. The woman was apparently a bard, though Charlotte had never heard her sing. She wore some kind of western desert garb, hanging completely off of her right shoulder, leather armor adorning her chest underneath.

"It says "Elizabeth the Undying." Charlotte said, handing the bounty over.

"She hasn't been seen in five years, Charlotte.” The woman replied, “But I can see why you chose her. That’s quite a bounty.”

“Her crimes are even more interesting, Lami. I mean, “Thievery of Magical Heirlooms, yeah. But “Evading Death?” How is that a crime?” Charlotte pondered.

“Guess that’s why she’s “Elizabeth the Undying, huh?”

“Stories say she simply “walked off” a volley from royal archers. And as of last week, there’s word she’s been spotted South of Astra.”

“And you’re going to bring her in?”

“Alive, I think.”

“Well, ya certainly won’t be dragging her corpse into the Guild!” Lami laughed, and passed the handbill back to the beastkin. She flashed the bard a forced smile. The storm continued to rage outside. The rolling thunder shook the small tavern, and likely the surrounding buildings. Charlotte took another swig of mead, and turned back to stare outside through the front window. Rainwater ran down the glass and made it hard to view what was actually happening, and the sound of the downpour pounding against the roof felt warm.

It made Charlotte sleepy.

Perhaps she could close her eyes for just a moment?

Boris eyed Charlotte expectedly. She worked tirelessly to bring in petty bounties. Seeing her fall asleep at the bar like a child was to be expected somehow always brought a grin to his face. Every time she’d get rejected from another “noble” knight’s order that didn’t accept Beastkin, she’d take out her anger on some poor fifty-gold thief and head back to the Dove. Today had likely been no different. Although she didn’t talk about it, the room in the Inn in which Charlotte took up indefinite residence was covered in those propaganda posters that orders of knights would hang around Astra or any other major city to recruit new Pages and Squires. When her parents first passed, Boris and Brenda had attended her first few tryouts. They watched her stroll confidently onto the practice grounds, and win most of her sparring sessions. She wasn’t a perfect fighter by any means, but she knew her stuff, and that alone would be enough to be recruited as a Page. But time, and time again, Charlotte had been turned away when they saw how she’d wrap her tail around an opponent’s legs to sweep them up. She noticed too, so she stopped doing it as frequently.

The next? They turned her away for using her sensitive ears to dodge attacks by detecting the breeze behind a sword strike. She made it less obvious.

Eventually, she had told the two to stop coming to her trials. Perhaps she thought they didn’t want to waste their time? But the siblings loved watching her try her best, and had told her as much.

Boris’ thought was interrupted as the entrance bell rang. The door was open with an unnecessary amount of force. In the doorway stood an imposing figure. A large woman with a cloak and riding hood, dripping with rainwater. As she stepped into the light, Boris could make out a huge sword sheathed upon her back. Her boots left watery shoeprints as she slowly made her way across the tavern.

“Ah, ‘ello there! Welcome to the Bloodied Dove, miss. Boris gave his friendliest welcome. He’d seen weirder customers. “You look like you just crawled out of the Eastern Sea!” He chuckled at his little quip. The woman seemed to smile at it.

“Hah, thanks. Feels like I did, too.” She hung up her long cloak on the coat rack. It touched the ground regardless. “Sorry ‘bout your door, man.”

“Think nothin’ of it, miss! It ain’t broken, right?” Brenda said, looking up from wiping down a table absentmindedly.

Charlotte’s eyes hadn’t moved from the lady swordsman since she walked inside. Something about her was really familiar. The thought nagged at her head and her ears twitched in annoyance as she struggled to think.

“Hey! I got somethin’ on my face, mouse lady?” The woman looked directly at Charlotte, puzzled. Her expression was one of frustration, and Charlotte didn’t blame her, given that she had been caught in the rain. Charlotte’s focus was such that even shrugged off the mouse remark.

“No. It’s nothing. You just look like someone I know.” The thought continued to attack Charlotte’s brain.

“Ah, well, based on the looks I got coming into town yesterday, I was under the impression I look pretty distinct.” The woman let out a hearty laugh. Her body was covered in toned, firm muscle, and she didn’t wear any kind of armor, save for a pair of expensive-looking bracers. She donned a loincloth, and her chest was wrapped and covered, even just barely. She was dressed like the cover of those old “Barbarian Woman” smut novels sold in the “less reputable” bookstore down the street from the Dove. A decorative-looking choker with a gem hanging off it was fastened around her neck. Given her intimidating appearance, It looked like a dog’s collar, and Charlotte almost snickered out loud at the comparison.

She shook her short, auburn hair, and a few drops of rainwater landed on Charlotte’s fur. She exhaled through her nose in annoyance, an act that the large woman didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze on the new entrant was shaken by a tap on the shoulder.

Lami the Bard stood behind Charlotte, looking rather serious. Her normal expression of drunken contentment was replaced by one of shaky nervousness. Charlotte was unnerved at the strange strange lack of composure from the regular. She had immediately stopped drinking from her mug of Elvesbrau, something she didn't do until her fourth or fifth pint.

It was as if a filament was suddenly sparked within Charlotte’s brain. The woman who stood in the vestibule of the tavern, dripping with rainwater, shook her head. More rainwater flew off in every which direction. Charlotte could almost feel the disapproving glare coming from Brenda. As if right on cue, the innkeep rushed over to her. The warrior looked guarded for a moment as Bren muttered a small incantation, lowering it as her body dried suddenly.

The fugitive, Beth the Undying, stood in front of Charlotte, gigantic, broad blade strapped across her back.

Beth stood there, rubbing the back of her head in relief, and profusely thanking Brenda. She didn’t seem dangerous.

But Charlotte had a job to do. She did her best to restrict her hostile glare. Lami gripped her shoulder, presumably to calm her down. The bard had a pretty strong grasp, too. Boris, noticing his surrogate daughter’s expression, poured her another mug. He’d seen more than enough bar brawls that he knew when something was brewing besides the mead. Charlotte’s attention fell from Beth for long enough to grab the mug and place it to her snout.

Beth strolled over to an empty barstool, seemingly ignorant, or uncaring of the current feeling in the air. She plopped her muscular frame down upon it, and raised a hand calmly to Boris.

“Why hello there, young lady. Welcome to the Bloodied Dove. ‘An just what can i do fer you?” Boris said, calmly.

“Eh, get me a pint of your strongest.” Beth said, letting out a relaxed sigh. “And maybe some information.”

“Oh? We ain’t much of an informational tavern, but we help where we can.” Boris replied, deftly filling up a tankard with Dragon’s Milk.

“Well, alright! Any of you guys seen a witch? Big, green hat, bushy red hair?” Beth asked, her expression genuine. “HUGE freckled butt?” She chuckled lightly.

“Oh, yer the type that’s into witches, eh? Well, can’t say many pass through here, unfortunately.” Boris shook his head, handing her the tankard.

“Shame. Well, she’s a strong lady. She’ll probably catch up eventually.”

Charlotte was practically shaking in anticipation. The way Beth downed the tankard, the rippling of her muscles, the size of the blade she effortlessly carried on her back - it felt more like adoration of her form than the excitement of the hunt.

And that 15,000 Gold Bounty. Not even Lami could stop the smile growing across her face. Her rodentlike nose twitched, as if she smelled something important.

“Hey, Boris?” Charlotte spoke up.

“Yes, ‘darlin?” He replied.

“You’ve got a little bit of Beastkin Brew left, right?”

“Ah, yeah, but that stuff ain’t no good for ya, my lil’ cabbage.”

“D-don’t call me that in front of people! And it isn’t for me. It’s for our large visitor, over there.”

“Beastkin Brew could kill a human, dummy! I couldn’t ever serve that to a patron.”

“Well, luckily, that patron can’t die.” A mischievous smile grew across Charlotte’s visage. For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the ancient clock on the wall by the staircase to the lodging, and the rain beating down on every surface outside. Beth’s riding cloak, hanging on the coat rack, dripped quietly into a puddle of rainwater beneath it. Lami inhaled deeply.

Renvaldt, still asleep, let out a grumble, his snores cutting the tension like a knife.

Beth turned her head slowly to meet Charlotte’s intense gaze. For a moment, their eyes locked, Beth breaking away first.

“I don’t want any trouble, mouse.” She began, trying to defuse the situation with a light tone. “I’m just here to find my lov-er… friend. I’m here to find my friend.”

“And I’m about to collect on a bounty.” Charlotte said, completely shrugging off Lami’s grasp, and standing up from her seat. Compared to even Beth’s sitting height, she looked downright diminutive.

“Oh, no ye aren’t!” Boris cut in. “Not in my bloody tavern ye ain’t, and not in this terrible weather.”

“Can it, Dad!” Charlotte spoke up, calling Boris by the title he’d assumed she thought of him for years at this point. The shock was visible upon his face. He had actually quieted down to think of a response. Brenda looked from Boris, to her adoptive niece, and to Beth, who had a dark look on her face.

The beastkin pointed at Beth like a challenge bowman declaring his target. The ferocity of a creature three times her size burning away in her eyes. Beth could see it too.

“You ought to listen to your dad, Charlie.” Beth said, semi-mockingly.

“And you ought to come in peacefully. Beth the Undying, I, Charlotte, Knight of the Bloodied Dove, and licensed Silver Rank Bounty Hunter of Clan Cazador, am officially claiming your bounty. Step outside, please.” Charlotte ignored Beth’s goading and recited her speech to the letter. Her chest raised in pride, and Boris gave her a waning smile.

“Everywhere I go, it’s like this. What’s the charge, even?”

“It says… Er, I mean “Evading Death, theft of a Magical Heirloom.” 15,000 Gold. You can pay your bounty to me, or I can take you into Clan Cazador for processing.”

“Ah, man, I seem to have left my giant sack of gold in my other loincloth. Would you mind waiting around while I go get it?”

“‘Fraid not. If you go outside, I will follow.” Charlotte was doing her best to keep calm. In truth, she didn’t want to sustain any damage to Boris’ pride and joy. Had she made her feelings known out loud, Boris would’ve gladly corrected his adopted daughter. She was his pride and joy.

But the room was silent.

“How do you wanna do this?” Beth said coolly. Not a hint of anger in her voice. She already knew it wasn’t anything personal.

“I prefer to settle it with a duel. Just because you’re undying doesn’t mean I can’t knock you unconscious, right?”

Beth wasn’t actually sure. She’d passed out before, but she couldn’t recall if it had been through battle. The curse that kept her alive wasn’t really specific on what else could happen. She’d definitely been hurt before, so it stood to reason that she could fall unconscious through a strong-enough blow to the head, though whether her regeneration would wake her up or not was another story entirely.

“Lemme finish this pint, first.” Beth said to Charlotte, who nodded. She grabbed her sword and pistol, heading for the door in silence. She looked back at Beth before walking outside, the bell above the door ringing loudly. The sound of rain intensified for just a moment before being muffled by the closing door again.

“Listen, man. Do you have a back entrance? I really don’t want to hurt your daughter.” Beth said, doing her level best to be considerate. She’d seen enough parents separated from their kids.

“There’s one by the stairwell. I’d be quick about it, though, Charlotte’s real good at sniffing people out.” Boris responded.

“Not in this weather, I bet.” Beth grinned wryly.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, regardless, I appreciate the drink.” Beth dropped a handful of silver pieces on the counter. “Keep the change, barkeep.”

“Thank you, Lady Beth.”

“Awh, please, Lady doesn’t really suit me.” Beth laughed, pulling on her damp cloak and walking through the back exit. She pulled the hood over her head, closing the door behind her.

The second she set foot in the pouring rain, she felt the cold metal of a flintlock barrel against her head.

“You’re right. Lady doesn’t suit you. It’s more like coward.” Charlotte said, her voice filled with venom.

“Isn’t a Bounty Hunter supposed to remain cool? What did I even do?”

“You’re trying to run away in a duel! One you accepted.”

“Trust me, kid, I’m doing this for your good.”

“And you think I can’t take you?”

Charlotte’s question had a prompt response. Beth’s broad blade was pulled from her back in an instant. In a single swipe, it felt like the pressure would knock Charlotte off her feet. She jumped back in anticipation, and saw the downpour stop in the space her opponent had slashed, for just a moment.

“You can fire that gun, you know. Right through my godsdamned head. I can’t die, little mouse.” Beth said intimidatingly.

“I told you, I don’t intend to kill you. I’ve only killed one bounty, and I don’t intend to make you the second.” Charlotte’s words were followed by the sound of blade leaving sheath. She stood stalwart, facing Beth with her shortsword.

“I’m going to break that. Probably your arm, too.” Beth moved quickly, bringing down her sword. She struck what felt like a liquid, though the ringing feeling of metal clashing was normal. Her strike was knocked off course, and when she regained her grip, Charlotte stood there, fur, hair and whiskers drenched, and her armored forearm held in front of her. The quiet streets of Astra echoed the sound, although It hadn’t travelled far.

“What’s the deal with that gauntlet?” Beth asked, hoisting Unsterblich up onto her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? What’s with your sword?”

“Well, just like me, it can’t be destroyed. I presume whatever you just did was meant to damage my blade?” Beth responded.

Charlotte said nothing. She hopped from leg to leg, like a pugilist readying himself before the next bout. Her large tail swiped from side to side in anticipation. In the next moment she was running towards Beth at full speed, sword in one hand.

“You should know better than to charge m-” Beth’s rebuttal was cut as Charlotte’s gauntlet grasped her face. With the momentum from her charge, the ratkin had leapt toward her opponent’s face, and was attempting to slam her head into the cobblestone.

“Since you can’t die, this should probably do the trick.” She thought to herself, pushing as hard as she could. Beth’s powerful neck resisted as hard as it could, but within a moment, Charlotte heard a sickening twist and crack, and nearly relented. She thrusted her hand forward and shoved it as hard she could as Beth’s towering figure fell to the rain-slicked ground. With a loud crunch that made the young bounty hunter cringe, Beth’s body fell still, her sword hitting the ground with a loud, reverberating clang.

For a moment, Charlotte stood atop her opponent, confused.

“There’s no way.” She gasped, realization starting to sink in. There probably wasn’t any way she was actually undying. There was a chance the firing squad had missed her vitals, and perhaps this Beth was just particularly hardy. Maybe she had found a medicine woman quickly after her escape. Either way, Charlotte had just taken a life, hadn’t she? Her pulse raced with worry.

“You’re fuckin’ right, there’s no way!” In a split-second, Beth’s muscular hand had wrapped around Charlotte’s ankle, and she panicked. The beastkin kicked against Beth’s chest with her clawed foot, but Beth didn’t release her grasp.

“God, you’re just like an actual rat. That was really annoying of you!” Beth spoke with a hint of frustration as her neck contorted and cracked back into place.

Somewhere, deep down, Charlotte was relieved. Her heart had nearly sunk when Beth stopped moving. She was truthfully thankful she hadn’t murdered her opponent. But now she was in deeper trouble. She grabbed her shortsword and stabbed at Beth’s arm, but save for surgically cutting at each of her fingers, it was clear the brown-haired swordswoman wouldn’t relent.

“Here, have some payback!” Beth’s nose streamed rivers of blood as it readjusted. The beastkin didn’t realize she’d broken the woman’s nose. In her panic, Charlotte drew her flintlock. As she cocked the gun back, She felt the air whoosh past her as if she was being thrown through the air.

She was being thrown through the air. She felt her tail searching for solid ground as she sailed. In her fear of leaving the ground through someone’s volition other than her own, she panicked and fired the flintlock. In any other situation, She’d be proud. The shot was dead on, and the bullet sailed through Beth’s chest. Charlotte saw raindrops fly in the opposite direction as she was headed as she collided with the side of “Samira’s Sundries” with a loud smack. She let out a loud groan as the wind was knocked from her chest, and sank to the ground. Thanking whatever god was popular that month that gravity had finally caught up to her, she wheezed and struggled to get up.

“And that wasn’t even with all my strength, Charlotte.” Beth had risen, and began walking towards her, a hole through her chest, leaking blood and viscera everywhere. Rain had loosed Charlotte’s well-styled hair, and her bangs fell long in front of her face. She got back up to her feet, shakily, and panted loudly as she regained her foot.

“Stop this nonsense, little mouse.”

Charlotte gritted her teeth. for the first time in a very long time, she had bared her Ratkin fangs at someone. Her large buck teeth were clearly visible, something she did well to hide from anyone else. She stood on shaky footing, waiting for her vision to clear, She held out her gauntlet in front of her. Her matted fur ruffled gently in the breeze, The rain pounded her padded armor. The chainmail in between gauntlet and armor jingled as her body shook. Rolling thunder struck a tree outside the city walls, loud enough to shake the buildings, but Charlotte stood as tall as she could.

“You know, the stance you take when holding your sword is odd. I was trying to figure out what it was.” Beth said, standing a few feet from Charlotte, who kept her gauntlet held in front of her. “I’ve seen other beastkin in my travels with Keiko, you know? She’s told me lots about you guys.”

“So… what?” Charlotte still found it in her to respond impatiently.

“Don’t your kind normally stand digitigrade? Why are you always standing flat-footed?”

The idea of such a preposterous question didn’t even register with her right away.

“W...why? It’s obvious.” Charlotte coughed. Her parents had always taught her to carry herself like a dignified human. Of course, her previous parents were dead, so who could say if they were right? Years of posture training, and she had eventually remembered to stand flat-footed. She was so proud the day she could do it without a hint of uncomfortableness that she had strolled all around Astra that day.

“It ain’t natural. Wouldn’t it feel better to move around normally?”

“Wouldn’t it do for you to shut up!?” Charlotte snapped, releasing a burst of energy from the gauntlet as Beth drew closer. She was knocked off her feet, and Charlotte fought to stay upright.

Beth was correct, though. The beastkin still felt more natural standing like her kin than as a human. And so, at the sake of her pride, she did so. She immediately felt a little lighter. Her flintlock lay at her feet, a splintering crack down the barrel. It would appear as if she’d landed on it.

Boris watched in shock from the window. Lami, as well, had joined him, looking on in surprise. The shockwave from her gauntlet had deflected any raindrops for a moment, as well.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and felt a pain in her side. She’d definitely broken a rib or two from colliding with the building. It seemed to be the lower ones, so her lungs weren’t at any risk. She readied herself like a runner preparing to take off from the starting gates, and made a sprint for the large blade laying on the ground near her opponent.

Beth was getting back up from the gauntlet’s shockwave, shaking her head. “DAMN. That hurt worse than the day after a Dwarven drinking party.” Blood flowed from the hole in her chest, and her nose was still bleeding, however, it was all clearing up, albeit slowly. In an instant, she lunged for Charlotte’s tail as she passed by. It wriggled free from her grasp and Charlotte skidded across the drenched ground, her clawed feet gaining traction quickly. She faced Beth on all fours, her rodent paws wrapped around the hilt of something peculiar.

Beth’s Unsterblich.

The voice of the sword rang throughout Charlotte’s cloudy head. “Oh, I’m quite interested to see where this’ll go.”

Charlotte spoke out loud in confusion. “H-HUH?”

“Show me, Charlotte. Show me the dance of the cornered rat. Pick me up, if you can.”

Beth, who had regained her footing, was gaining speed towards Charlotte.

“You really don’t want to do that!” She yelled out. The anger was audible in her tone.

Charlotte struggled to lift the gigantic, broad blade off the ground. With a bit of help from the energy stored in her gauntlet, she managed to bring it up to her knees, arms quivering with the effort. She lifted the rest of her body determinedly, holding the blade. Beth rushed towards the Ratkin with a speed that belied her appearance. Charlotte stood stock still, holding the sword as steady as she could, waiting for the right moment.

As soon as the undying swordswoman entered her range, she lifted the blade with all her might, screaming out loud, a sound loud enough to pierce through the veil of the storm. She discharged the gauntlet one more time. Beneath her. A burst of energy launched her towards Beth at full speed. She was shocked it worked. She gripped the hilt with both hands, flying towards her unexpectant opponent. Beth stopped in her tracks as the blade of her own sword ran through her midsection at near terminal velocity. But it didn’t stop there. Lightning struck and thunder roared its furious bellow as the weight and speed of the stab continued to push the two warriors. Beth grabbed the blade with both hands as it ran through her intestines and out her back, her feet searching for any traction on the slick ground, her scream of pain shaking the windows around them

Charlotte’s eyes, wide open and wild, were only focused on the target in front of her. She put as much force on the hilt as she could, continuing to push, letting out her own yell of effort. Blood streaked Unsterblich and rivulets trailed along the broad side of the sword the ground, getting lost in the cracks in between the cobblestone and swirling away with the downpour. Charlotte’s grip on the hilt had begun to hurt her hands.

They had stopped moving

Beth coughed up blood. Her hands were shaking from ceasing the blade’s advance.

“Bravo, beastkin. You’re definitely going to regret it, but bravo!” The sword spoke to her. It was the last thing it said to her. Charlotte released the sword, panting heavily. The skin on her palms was torn from how strenuously she had been gripping the sword. She fell to one knee in exhaustion.

“Didn’t know Orichalcum could store energy like that, eh?” Charlotte said, in between gasping for breath.

The motionless Beth, a sword driven through her stomach, had stirred ever so slightly. Her eyes shot open, and in them, a wild fury.

“My OWN SWORD? REALLY? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?.” She sounded like a woman possessed.

“She… got you good.” Unsterblich spoke to her. She silenced it within her mind.

“I’m going to make you into a rat kebab.” Beth said, not fully aware of what she had said herself.

It was true that Beth didn’t want to take any children from their parents… But every warrior on a battlefield was someone’s child. This was a battle, now. The ratkin had evaded her for far too long.

The expression of victory drained from Charlotte’s face slowly, washing away with the downpour. Her ribs ached, and her hands were raw. Her vision was blurring, and the rain didn’t help. But, did she really have to see the face of the warrior about to take her down? Would it be ceremonious? Beth didn’t seem the type for last rites and ceremonies. Her gauntlet felt lighter than ever. Her whole body did.

Her ears drooped in defeat. The sight would be adorable without the context of a duel to the death.

Beth’s large intestine draped her sword like a Christmas garland. She pulled, with a pained scream, and yanked it from her insides like a sword from a stone. She vomited blood. It was sickening. Did Charlotte really have any right to be sickened by it? She had caused it.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’ll heal up. Worry about yourself. You’ve pushed me way too far, now.”

Beth winced and brought the blade up above her head. The wound Charlotte had made was starting to seal, sickeningly red chunks of organ and viscera were reattaching in tendrils and clumps as she watched. It almost distracted her from the stance Beth took.

Like an executioner. Like a guillotine.

Boris the barkeep burst from the door and ran towards the pair, followed by Lami the bard, and a groggy Renvaldt the Artificer. Brenda the innkeep stood in the doorway, mortified. Boris had almost made his way to the pair, when Beth had turned to face him menacingly, blood streaking once side of her face, sweat and rainwater dripping over her eyes and broken nose and bloodied lip. “Stay back.”

Boris felt a primal fear overcome his parental instinct, and he froze in place. Lami gripped her daggers in worry. Renvaldt, sobered by the rain, looked on in horror as Beth swung the sword down with all her might.

It was a lucky angle.

Charlotte parried the swing with her gauntlet, at great cost. Even the flexible, magical Orichalcum couldn’t stop the brunt of the attack, and her arm cracked and twisted unnaturally on impact. Pain shot through her whole body and she let out a bloodcurdling scream. The sound brought tears to Boris’ eyes. He snapped out of his trance just as Beth’s blade was deflected out of her weakening grip, slamming to the ground and sliding along the cobble. Several people taking shelter in the various side shops and taverns walked outside to hear the source of the commotion.

Charlotte lay on the ground in a pained head, quivering from the strike to her arm. Her whiskers drooped pathetically, and she could barely keep her eyes open. The wild fury in Beth’s eyes didn’t seem to dissipate. Several skilled-looking warriors from other buildings had drawn slightly closer to the scene.

Just when it looked like all of the patrons of the Bloodied Dove would have to step in, a mortified voice rang out.

“Oi, Beth, what’re ye doin!?” The source of the voice was a plump woman, with long hair, redder than the blood spilled between Beth and her opponent. Adorning her eye was an expensive-looking monocle, and her large, wide-brimmed witches’ hat had a droopy point with a crescent moon ornament hanging off the tip. She hopped off of an ornate, golden staff, which had flown her to the scene. At the top was a lantern. A blue flame danced within.

Beth stopped what she was doing, her fists still curled.

“Oh, me darlin dear. Whatever were ya plannin to do with ‘that poor Ratling?” She said, her voice both calming and condescending at the same time. The warriors who had drawn close stepped back in anticipation. The woman, wearing heeled boots, kind-of waddled towards the scene. Despite this, nobody had it in them to laugh. She seemed supremely powerful. The aura she exuded caused the rain to disperse wherever she was standing.

“Bounty Hunter.”

“And someone’s daughter, it seems.” She said, motioning her head towards Boris, who had run over to cradle Charlotte’s body.

“She wasn’t gonna kill ye, I promise it!” Boris said, tears in his eyes. “I suppose it’s ‘alrigh ye just knocked the shite outta her, but still…”

In an instant, Beth’s faculties returned to her. She looked off to her side, where Unsterblich had flown. She stared at the witch in her bright red eyes. They seemed kind of disapproving, and it was the first time she’d seen the witch-turned-lover show such an expression.

“Ya got a bounty on ye?”

“Ah, yeah… from the last time I was teleported to this realm.”

“Why dint ye tell me, bloody meathead? I coulda paid it off.”

“Well, in all honesty, Miss Keiko, I didn’t remember. It’d been five year…” Beth trailed off.

The unconscious Charlotte had been turned over by her adoptive father, and from within her leather armor, a ragged doll, hand-sewn and with wool hair, had fallen to the ground. Beth’s eyes widened.

“W...where did she get that!?” Tears began to form in Beth’s eyes. The wild ferocity and intensity she had shown just a moment ago began to fade.

“I don’t rightly know! It’s the first I’m seein' it!” Boris replied. Lami the Bard had also taken a spot next to Charlotte’s limp body. The ratkin's chest rose and fell weakly.

Beth reached her arm over to the unconscious ratkin. Lami the Bard drew a dagger with a vicious glare.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt her." Beth said softly, surprising, considering she had just been letting loose death knells that would shake a dragon. Keiko stared at her partner suspiciously. The little flame demon in her lantern danced around in its glass enclosure, visage displaying a little grimace.

The warrior woman grabbed the doll off the wet ground and clutched it tightly to her chest. A warmth she hadn't felt in ages coursed through her body like the color returning to plants in the spring.

"Your daughter… she fought pretty well, you know?" Openly sobbed, shifting her gaze between the doll and Boris, who was holding Charlotte tenderly. "Miss Keiko, can you help me out, here?"

Keiko sighed and stepped closer to the scene. Whatever kind of ward the witch had conjured to protect her from the weather expanded to encompass all of the Dove's occupants.

"She's tryin ta say she's sorry." She explained. The redhead snapped her fingers, and a glyph appeared above her open palm. A sack of gold pieces landed from what seemed like thin air. It jingled loudly as it sat upon her hand. She gently placed the gold on the ground next to Charlotte.

"Yer a bounty hunter, 'aintcha?" Keiko asked, squatting down next to the barely-conscious beastkin. "Close the contract, aye?"

A weak smile grew across Charlotte's face, and she held her good arm up, clutching a shiny silver badge. It had a small amount of Beth's blood on it.

"N...negotium Certus." The beastkin muttered, pressing Beth's blood into the badge. The handbill for her capture suddenly burst into flame. In an instant, it was reduced to ash.

Boris looked jumpy at the turn of events for a moment, then looked back down at his daughter. Keiko gave the older man a warm smile, leaving the bag of gold next to his kneeling form on the cobble.

"Oi, Beth, ain't ye got something to say?" Keiko turned to look at her partner, who had wiped the welling tears from her eyes by now. The warrior, whose wound slowly closed even as they spoke, looked down at the much shorter witch.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" She asked, confused.

"No? Didn't ya just take something from her?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah, this doll." Beth began, holding it gently, her cheeks a little red." It belongs to one of my kids."

"Did Charlotte take it from them!?" Lami looked incredulous.

"Lami, ye pig-brain, why would Boris' daughter steal from a child!?" It was Renvaldt who had spoken this time. Lami's face flushed and she looked back to the swordswoman, waiting for the follow-up from her.

"Nah, it wasn't stolen. My kids are… far away. I can't see them right now." Beth looked away. There was a motherly glow about her face as she responded. It was unlike any expression Charlotte had seen her make until this point. The nearly-unconscious beastkin could almost feel her anguish.

She was also dealing with her own. She had unwittingly moved her arm, likely to make some kind of comforting gesture, but it sent a wave of agony shooting up to her shoulder. She let out a pained squeak. The rain outside of Keiko’s paling had increased in intensity. A few of the people who had left their shelters to inspect the fight continued to look on in amazement at the odd sight. Displays of powerful magic weren’t uncommon in Astra, but something so simple, yet practical seemed to really surprise them.

Keiko was used to the glances. She didn’t fight much, and people tended to be shocked when they saw how much practicality witchcraft could have.

“Ye really shouldn’t be moving with yer arm all banged up like that, sweetie.” She said to Charlotte, leaning over her and Boris, and putting the bag of gold pieces on the ground beside them. “I know someone who can ‘ave that all patched up in no time.”

Charlotte, at first, found it hard to part with the gauntlet, even temporarily, as the medical-mage attempted to examine her broken arm, but when she finally released the pained grip she had maintained, it slid off without trouble.

“If it weren’t for that gauntlet, you wouldn’t have an arm left, little missy.” the nurse said to her, looking worried. "Luckily for you, that'll heal up well with some treatment from our head nurse. Thank your blacksmith for that Oricalchum!"

Charlotte thought to herself for a moment. It’d probably be nice to keep a smithy like that in her good graces. They had seemed more than happy to work on one of the rarest metals around. After the beastkin had spent hundreds of gold on the parts, she couldn’t find any blacksmiths willing to risk their reputation to work on it, so it was a miracle that it had even come to be.

The ornate, golden gauntlet lay on the table beside Charlotte. The plain medical examination room was small, and separated from others by a thick curtain, most likely arcane in origin.

Outside, the storm raged on. As was typical for the rainy season around central Redding. She tried to fix her braid that had come loose. It was a lot harder with one hand. Her toes curled with the effort as she strained to make the precise movements with her fingers. Just then, she heard the door to the examination rooms open.

“She’s just beyond here, right?” Spoke a familiar voice.

“C’est vrai~.” spoke a singsong voice, in a language Charlotte didn’t understand. A few moments after, The light above her bed was blocked out by the huge frame of Beth standing above her. The ragged doll she had reclaimed earlier was attached to her clothing at the waist. It seemed she was intent on not misplacing it again.

“Hey, little mouse.” She said with an apologetic look on her face. If Charlotte didn’t know any better, she’d say it was a “sorry for pulverizing your arm” look.

“I didn’t say it before, but ya know I’m a ratkin, right?” Charlotte replied, looking slightly annoyed.

“I know. It’s just a nickname I chose for ya.”

“Hmm. That mean you got nearly laid out by a little mouse?” A mischievous grin grew across Charlotte’s face.

“Hey, don’t get it twisted. I could’ve ended that anytime I wanted to.”

Charlotte was sure she was telling the truth. Less so when she thought about how long Beth had gone before ending the fight. It really wasn’t the time to doubt her abilities, though. The grin remained as Beth pressed on.

“The uh… blade. It told me it talked to you.” Beth pointed her thumb toward her back. The huge broadsword caught the light of the examination room like sharp fangs catch the glint of a lantern.

“It doesn’t talk to many people. Maybe it saw somethin’ in ya?” The swordswoman shrugged. Charlotte’s whiskers and perked up at the thought. She hoped Beth didn’t see. For a moment, the only sound in the exam rooms was the rain pounding the windows and the occasional groan of someone from a few curtains over.

“I guess it wasn’t expecting me to use it against you.”

“That was some pretty smart thinking.” Beth walked over to the gauntlet on the table, and picked it up, examining it. Out of reflex, Charlotte attempted to reach for it with her dominant arm and recoiled in pain.

“Yeah, probably wanna give that a rest. And while you’re at it. You should give this a name. We can discuss it over drinks! I’m pretty good at names.” Beth said, pointing to the gauntlet, as if she weren’t talking to someone who had impaled her hours ago.

“I’ll think about it.” Charlotte said, an actual, genuine smile forming for the first time in a while.

“By the way, if you’re interested, my old lady - the one from this world, the witch. She said she might have a job for you.”

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grimoireofkenji

Charlotte on the Hunt